


7-Ships in the Night

by WritestuffLee



Series: The Warrior's Heart, Volume 4, The Long Shadow [7]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: AU, Action/Adventure, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-11
Updated: 2007-01-11
Packaged: 2017-12-10 15:39:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritestuffLee/pseuds/WritestuffLee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obi-Wan finds his way through the difficulties of being an independent knight while Qui-Gon pursues his own mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	7-Ships in the Night

The bed was deliciously warm and Qui-Gon pleasantly drowsy, just drifting back to sleep in fact, having awakened earlier for no discernible reason. Despite that awakening, he was enjoying the sensation of knowing that hours remained before dawn and that he needn’t stir before then. He couldn’t name what had pulled him from sleep, but it hadn’t been an altogether unpleasant experience. In retrospect, it had been something like laughing oneself awake.

And now it was still the dead of night, according to the chrono on the bedside table, and a little light traffic glimmered in the sky outside, throwing shadows like the reflections of rippling water across the walls. Even the nocturnals had gone to bed. Coruscant was as quiet as it ever was. Sleep hovered nearby. Distantly, he wondered again what had woken him, but it was not of particular concern, or particularly unusual, when Obi-Wan was gone, as he had been for two tens.

Ah. Yes. No wonder he had woken so pleased with himself.

Qui-Gon nestled deeper beneath the covers, smiling in anticipation, and touched the bond. Even as he did so, from the other room came the nearly soundless _whish-_ pause _-whish_ of the door sweeping open and closed, the soft thump of empty boots and full pack hitting the floor—also nearly soundless unless listened for, as they were now—and the almost imperceptible rustle of a cloak and pad of feet he knew would be bare, socks left somewhere along the way. A moment later and the bedroom door slid open silently, a dark silhouette against the shadows of the common room appearing in it. More rustling of clothing, followed by the movement of covers and mattress, and then the welcome proximity of a warm body, bare and smelling of outdoors, ship interior, and just faintly of sweat: a familiar and altogether welcome scent.

A tentative hand brushed his hip at the same time he felt a gentle wash of warmth through the bond. Their hands found one another beneath the covers and Obi-Wan’s mouth came down on Qui-Gon’s, gently teasing his lips apart. The bond widened between them as well, filled with warmth and love. As always, there was the taste of sweet tea and spice, so familiar and expected that it was hard to tell whether it was actual or imagined. Obi-Wan moved closer until they were pressed firmly together.

“You’re wearing clothes,” he whispered, voice full of amusement, then leaned in again to continue the kiss.

“I get cold without you, _kosai_ ,” Qui-Gon whispered back a few moments later. It was true.

“Are you cold now?” the younger man murmured in a sultry voice, running his hands over Qui-Gon.

“Not now.” And that was true too.

“Good. Then let’s get rid of these, shall we?” Before he could protest—not that he’d planned to—busy hands stripped him competently, dropping loose sleep pants and tunic beside the bed in a careless heap. A moment later, they were pressed together again, Obi-Wan’s knee sliding between his legs and a firm erection nudging his own burgeoning one.

“Mmmmm,” came the satisfied purr as their mouths met again. Again, Obi-Wan teased his lips apart, a questing tongue sliding between them. Qui-Gon felt the sudden welcome jolt of that invasion in his groin, dispelling any lingering sleepiness. In response, he paid closer attention to the kiss, mirroring his lover’s actions, their tongues sliding against each others, in turn mirrored by the movements of their bodies. Obi-Wan rubbed against him everywhere they could possibly touch, as though he wanted to cover as much skin as possible, and his hands roamed everywhere they could reach, stroking and squeezing. Qui-Gon obligingly helped by wrapping him in his arms and pulling him closer.

They kissed languorously in the dark, moving against each other in a leisurely way. Qui-Gon was only half hard and didn’t much care whether they were building up to something more or not, so pleasant was it just to have Obi-Wan back in his arms. As much as he loved watching the younger man in the throes of passion, there was something almost unbearably sweet about this slow and tender touching in the cocoon of warm covers and night in their own bed. It was comfortable and comforting all at once. Qui-Gon sighed happily into Obi-Wan’s mouth.

“Is that good?” Obi-Wan whispered.

“Oh yes, _kosai_ ,” Qui-Gon replied, their hushed voices only making the darkness cozier, or so it seemed to him.

A hot tongue licked up his throat, followed by nibbling teeth along the same path, and a voice whispering in his ear. “Let me make it even better. Turn over.”

Heart thudding suddenly, Qui-Gon obliged. Guided by Obi-Wan’s hands, he ended on his side, facing away, Obi-Wan’s knee nudging his top leg up. Fingers grazed over his back, then lower, making him shiver with their touch. Another set reached between his legs and closed lightly on his scrotum, rolling its contents and hefting the sac gently—a distraction technique, he realized, as the hand that had stroked his back returned, slick now, to trail up his perineum to the entrance to his body. Slowly, Obi-Wan pressed two fingers into him, stretching him so gently that it was less an invasion than a caress, at least until those fingers stroked over his prostate.

Caught off guard, Qui-Gon shuddered and moaned, his cock filling more as a line of lightning shot up his spine. He pushed back into that touch helplessly, stunned at how quickly his contentment had changed to need. Obi-Wan answered him with the brush of his lips across his shoulder. “Ready for me?” he murmured, rubbing his cheek and velvety beard against Qui-Gon’s shoulder. Without waiting for the answer, already knowing through the bond what it was, he pushed himself slowly inside.

They spooned together, Obi-Wan inside him with one hand on his hip as they rocked lazily against each other just enough to give them both pleasure. Qui-Gon reached back and cupped one of the younger man’s buttocks in one hand, squeezing, pulling him closer and deeper. Obi-Wan’s breath was hot and quick on his skin, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other caressing his hip, and finally sliding around it to grasp his cock. It was that final touch that made him fully hard at last.

Heat. Friction. The thick length of his lover’s cock pushing into him, gliding back, pushing in again over the bundle of nerves inside, sending washes of flame through him. Obi-Wan’s hand hot and firm and rough around his own cock. In the darkness under the covers, it was easy to imagine this was all that was, all that mattered: the two of them making love. It was a pleasant illusion and Qui-Gon let himself sink into it, feeling the urgency of impending orgasm rising in both of them, wanting that even as he knew it would shatter the illusion.

“Come for me, Qui,” Obi-Wan urged him quietly.

He wrapped his hand around Obi-Wan’s, guiding the movements that would bring him to climax, surrendering to the heat and tension in his groin, testicles tightening, until finally he thrust hard into Obi-Wan’s hand, shuddering and whimpering, and came. His lover spun it out for him, milking his orgasm until there was nothing left but the sound of his panting in the darkness and a hard cock still inside him. It wasn’t the most amazing orgasm he’d ever had, but it was still sweet. “Oh love,” he sighed, feeling a satisfied lassitude fall around him like a blanket.

Obi-Wan leaned against him then, gently pushing him over and nudging his legs wider. Supporting himself on one arm, he rocked hard and fast, pushing himself deeper. Two quick, hard thrusts and Obi-Wan was crying out softly and burying his face against Qui-Gon’s shoulder, sighing against him, sinking down behind him into the bed, pulling him close even as Qui-Gon’s body pushed him out. “Qui, Qui, hmmmm, love you,” he heard in a soft, sleepy voice broken by a yawn.

He rolled over in Obi-Wan’s arms and returned the embrace, warm and content, and they went into sleep together.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, it seemed almost like a dream, and Qui-Gon might have mistaken it for one if Obi-Wan hadn’t been beside him when he opened his eyes. They were spooned together, Obi-Wan’s back to his front, both of them sticky and ripe from the night’s activity. Qui-Gon nuzzled the back of Obi-Wan’s neck and inhaled, savoring the pungent scent and remembering how sweet what gave rise to it had been.

The younger man was still deeply asleep, having come in so late, mouth open, drooling onto the pillow, and Qui-Gon didn’t wake him. Instead, he slipped out of bed and headed for the fresher. For a few minutes, the steam only made the smell riper, and Qui-Gon enjoyed that too, before washing away the traces of their lovemaking and toweling himself off. Even then, the afterglow stayed with him, coloring his mood and making him both unaccountably happy and a little melancholy all at once.

 

He was dressed and had eaten and already gone through most of the news and his messages by the time Obi-Wan padded out of their bedroom, yawning and scratching at his beard, eyes still heavy-lidded. He was wrapped, as usual, in Qui-Gon’s ancient, threadbare, green robe, the one he’d appropriated several years ago after replacing it with the expensive blue silk one that was Qui-Gon’s favorite item of clothing. The old green robe was, of course, much too large on Obi-Wan, and fell to the floor, even dragging a little. Seeing him in it never failed to make Qui-Gon feel a little tender toward him, more so this morning than usual.

Despite his evident sleepiness, Obi-Wan’s eyes were a sparkly green, signaling an uncertain mood. He flung himself into the chair opposite Qui-Gon and sank his head in his hands, still yawning and inarticulate, not quite awake yet. Obi-Wan was perfectly capable of snapping into instant alertness from the deepest sleep—every Jedi was—but when he was safe at home, he much preferred to approach the day slowly, and Qui-Gon preferred to watch him do it. Without speaking, he fetched a strong cup of tea and pushed it across the table the way he might extend a morsel of food to a starving wild animal.

Obi-Wan took it, sending a silent, groggy wave of pleasure and gratitude through the bond. Clutching the cup in his hands, he sipped at it carefully, not putting it down again until it was half gone. Qui-Gon judged it was safe to speak now.

“Good morning, _kosai_.”

“G‘morning, love,” Obi-Wan returned. He looked up at Qui-Gon in one of his rare wide and dazzling grins. “I hope you didn’t mind me waking you last night.”

“Not at all. And it was certainly a pleasant way to be put back to sleep.”

“I was thinking about you all the way home,” Obi-Wan went on, looking a little abashed. “Well, I usually am on the way home, but for some reason I really wanted to be with you again. I miss working with you. I miss you.”

Stabbed by a sudden bittersweet pang, Qui-Gon reached across the table and cupped Obi-Wan’s cheek in his hand; the younger man leaned into it, fixing his gaze on Qui-Gon’s face. “I miss you, too, love. It’s not how we thought it would be, is it?”

“No, not at all. I’m not even doing much of what you trained me for. I can’t tell you the last time I negotiated anything more than the price of a meal in a market.”

Qui-Gon rubbed a thumb over Obi-Wan’s lips and was kissed in return. “What they don’t tell you when you’re a padawan to an old master is that your master’s gotten those cushy negotiation jobs as a reward for managing to survive his early knighthood. It’s nothing to do with your training.”

“There wasn’t ever much hope of us working together, was there?” Obi-Wan seemed crestfallen at the realization.

“Not really,” Qui-Gon agreed, but not without sympathy. “But it was an enjoyable fantasy while it lasted.”

Obi-Wan looked up at him with his green eyes, a volatile fire smoldering in them that made Qui-Gon uneasy somehow. “I really miss you, Qui. I feel as though I never see you anymore. I’m gone for long stretches of time, home for a few days, and then I’m off again. I need to curl up with you somewhere for a while and not go anywhere or do anything, except fuck you twice a day.”

Qui-Gon’s cock gave a little jump at the idea, making its opinion known. He ignored it with difficulty since the plan appealed to other parts of his anatomy as well, including his brain. “Have you told the Council? It’s your right to refuse missions, Obi-Wan. It’s been more than a year since you had a break. And the first halfyear of your knighthood you weren’t home at all.”

Qui-Gon still felt, even in retrospect, that that had been the Council’s way of clearing the field for his own “project.” He’d been grateful for it at the time, when there had been so much to set in motion. The number of meetings and subterfuge involved in them hadn’t stopped him from missing Obi-Wan, but his absence had made them easier to accomplish without having to invent excuses. But Obi-Wan’s pace hadn’t slackened much since then and it seemed to Qui-Gon that they were running his former padawan ragged now. He looked tired and thin and not entirely happy—characteristics he shared with many of the younger knights. Qui-Gon didn’t remember his own first years of knighthood being quite so frenetic.

“I thought I might ask for two tens of downtime.”

“Have you put in for it yet?” Qui-Gon asked, unable to keep the disappointment from his voice.

“Well, no. Not yet,” Obi-Wan replied, puzzled. “Is this not—are you—”

“It’s just that I’m leaving this afternoon. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”

“Oh. I see. Not a good time, then.” Obi-Wan got up from his chair and went into the kitchen with his cup.

“You should schedule some regardless,” Qui-Gon called after him.

Obi-Wan swore feelingly in Huttese. “The whole point was to spend it with you,” he grumbled, pouring the remainder of his now-cold tea down the sink. Qui-Gon came up behind him and wrapped him up in an engulfing hug, nuzzling the fine strands of auburn hair. He still smelled of spunk and sweat and the warmth of their bed. Obi-Wan leaned back against him and folded his arms across Qui-Gon’s, still obviously disgruntled.

“Take some of it at least, _kosai_.. You need the rest, and I’m just being selfish. We’ll have time together soon. You can always ask for more. I’d rather have you go back to the field rested and alert in my absence than come home to find you injured or worse because you weren’t at your peak.”

“That would be the sensible thing to do, wouldn’t it?” Obi-Wan sighed. “Somehow I don’t feel very sensible right now. I feel resentful and annoyed.”

“That’s because you’ve neither eaten nor meditated this morning.”

“Or because I’m resentful and annoyed,” Obi-Wan snorted and extricated himself from Qui-Gon’s embrace. “When are you leaving? How much time have we got? Do you still have things to do?”

“Not really,” Qui-Gon replied, answering the last question first. “I’m packed, and the transport is all arranged. I don’t need to leave here until late afternoon.”

Green eyes flashed at him as Obi-Wan turned to face him. “Then I think we should go back to bed.”

For a moment, Qui-Gon said nothing at all out of pure astonishment. Then Obi-Wan’s sly smile overcame him. “Yes, perhaps we should,” he agreed.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan rolled over in the big bed and stared at the chron’s pale numerals. Qui-Gon had been gone for hours now, though their bed still smelled of him and their lovemaking. He could still feel his lover’s presence, in this room especially, but all throughout their quarters as well, and there were more tangible clues he could see or intuit: the jungle of plants near the windows—something that had proliferated with his extended time in temple—his clothing in the closet and storage, the books and scrolls on the shelves and scattered beside the bed, the paraphernalia of his calligraphy, his favorite cup left on a table. And the scent of his body, of course, on the pillows, in the sheets.

It wasn’t enough.

If he let himself drift, he could still feel Qui-Gon touching him, the big blunt fingers caressing him, teasing him, entering him, the rough palms drifting over his skin, the tactile ghost of Qui-Gon’s lips against the side of his neck and nuzzling his nipples. It was enough to make him hard again, but it wasn’t enough when what he wanted was the solidity of that long body next to his, the real touch of skin on skin, and the luxury of waking up next to him for more than a few days at a time.

And it had become a luxury since his knighthood. Still staring at the numerals counting down the time separating them, Obi-Wan regretted how much he’d taken Qui-Gon’s presence for granted when he’d been a padawan.

They’d spent the rest of the day in bed, up until just before Qui-Gon needed to leave. He’d taken a quick shower, dressed once more, kissed his lover and walked out the door with his pack. Obi-Wan had gone back to bed, drained of ambition and feeling a cloud of grey envelop him. There were a dozen things he should do, including check his messages and put in for his leave, but he couldn’t rouse himself to get out of bed. He was being childish and he knew it, but somehow didn’t care. There was something about Qui-Gon going off like this that he didn’t like.

It didn’t help that checking to see what Qui-Gon’s misson was, he had discovered instead that his master’s absence was listed as “personal leave.”

Not only was this the first time Qui-Gon had been away while Obi-Wan was home, but his absence apparently had something to do with the unnamed, unmentioned, undiscussed “project” that Qui-Gon only ever referred to obliquely. Much as Obi-Wan liked to pretend to himself that he was perfectly capable of ignoring it—and he was, most of the time—occasionally it became a giant purple Hutt sitting in the middle of the floor that they both studiously avoided acknowledging. And at times, that was wearing.

Like now.

“Whine, whine, whine,” he muttered and threw off the covers savagely. Qui-Gon was right: he needed to put in for some leave and get his emotional equilibrium back. It probably wouldn’t hurt to eat and meditate either. Hadn’t he learned this lesson already as a padawan? Time it stuck, then, he told himself firmly.

He padded into the fresher and washed up, then carefully dressed himself and ventured out to the refectory for some food. After that, he’d go to the gardens for a nice, long, quiet, introspective spell on his knees. But before all that, he’d put in for a ten-day or more of leave.

 

* * *

 

The trip to Ruhiri was longer than Qui-Gon anticipated or would have liked, largely because of the necessity of secrecy. He changed ships several times, in several different ports, always at night, always in civilian clothing. He had left the Temple in his uniform and robe, toting a standard pack, made a detour into the back of Dex’s from which he emerged in nondescript civilian clothing with a spacer’s duffle, and gone aboard a tramp freighter he’d signed onto as navigator under an assumed identity several days before. He’d jumped ship and gone to ground at their first stop, feeling only marginally guilty that he’d left the crew of rogues short-handed.

It took him several more days to find passage from there, and when he wasn’t at the port, he was holed up in his seedy little room in the seedy lodging he’d found, going out mostly at night to the seedy cantinas frequented by pilots and captains of dubious reputation. He used the Force to move mostly unseen through the streets and sit unmolested and largely unnoticed in the cantinas. The play repeated itself several times on different planets along the inner edge of the Rim before he found his way to the tiny, two-hangar port on Ruhiri, still klicks from his destination, but at least on the same planet.

As he looked around at the tiny landing field that hadn’t changed in the fifteen years since he’d last been here, some part of him wanted to believe the fiction he’d spun for his sister about this place and found comfort in the idea that he was doing this for Obi-Wan, who would, indeed, love it here. Even the port—which was not much more than the landing pads, the two hangars, a parts depot that doubled as the Portmaster’s office, a few stores, a little café with rooms to let above it, and a scattering of dwellings on one dusty street—still had a sleepy, bucolic atmosphere that set Qui-Gon’s heart at ease. This would have been an ideal place for Obi-Wan to “curl up” alone with his lover for a few tens. Qui-Gon wondered briefly if he would ever see it, then dismissed the thought. No point in dwelling on that now.

Centuries ago, Ruhiri had been the private preserve of a now-extinct Dannoran Merchant House. In some convoluted manner, it had passed into House Jinn-Qi’s possession and eventually fallen into disuse, all but forgotten as part of the far-flung holdings of a millennia-old merchant empire, now sparsely populated by the descendants of employees and family retainers, and the occasional retired smuggler, no doubt. Years ago, as he’d told his sister, Qui-Gon had stopped here for repairs and in the course of interacting with the locals, learned something of the planet’s history. He’d been surprised and a little shocked to realize it was part of his family’s assets.

Now he owned it himself.

The title had passed to him as his belated Compensation, a formality his younger brother had neglected to attend to when a newly knighted Qui-Gon had signed away his claim on the family fortune. At 21, Obi-Wan had done the same thing and come into his own trust, one he rarely drew upon but which had been accruing interest since the first Jedi from House Kenobi had been knighted. House Jinn-Qi’s fortunes were not nearly as vast as the Ruling House Obi-Wan came from, but they were large enough to include this largely unsettled little planet in its out-of-the-way pocket of the galaxy near the Koornacht Cluster.

Of course, it would be useless for his purposes if it were easily traced to him, so he had managed to bury the title, with some help, in a maze of dummy companies through which the funds for this project were being distributed. That had easily been the most tedious part of the entire endeavor so far, and Qui-Gon was glad to be shut of most of it. That kind of information shuffling was one of the reasons he’d avoided nominations to serve on the Council for so long. He was certain there was more tediousness to come, but right now, in this moment, he was happy to focus his attention on the fresh air and the peace. He took a few moments to just savor it before heading to the Portmaster’s office to begin the final leg of his journey.

 

Two hours later, he was skimming down a narrow muddy road, map flimsie and geomagnetic compass stuck to the fuel case housing of the used speederbike he’d purchased from one of the shops in port. The map was from an ancient set of family records and Qui-Gon had painstakingly overlaid it with a more contemporary survey done almost two centuries before. Since then, Ruhiri had been largely ignored, as far as Qui-Gon could tell, which suited his purposes perfectly. On top of that, it was simply a beautiful place.

He’d arrived at the beginning of spring on Ruhiri and the air was fresh with new life. Along the thickly forested road he followed, trees were bursting into bud, some of them already showing pale leaves. Deeper in the forest he caught glimpses of ragged snow drifts not yet melted by the spring sun. Qui-Gon had ridden most of the trip with his helmet strapped to the carrier in the back, the braid he’d bound his hair into whipping behind him like a tail. It was a foolish thing to do, but he’d done things far more dangerous in his life and trusted his Jedi reflexes to keep him safe. He considered it a fair trade-off for the feeling of joy and exhilaration it gave him—he’d never lost his secret enjoyment of controlled speed, especially in open vehicles—and life had taught him to take his pleasures where he found them.

It felt strange to be out here on his own, making his own plans and carrying them out without Obi-Wan’s input or feedback, without explanations or conversation or any analysis but his own. He’d been sent out on diplomatic missions alone since Obi-Wan’s knighting, but this somehow was very different. He had only the vaguest of orders, and no one looking over his shoulder at any point in the process. Initially, the utter freedom had made him feel isolated and abandoned, but now that he was fully embroiled, speeding on his way toward a real place he himself had conjured from his own initiative, the project seemed less daunting. He could do this. He would do it. It would likely be his last great service to the order, though few would see it that way.

Least of all Obi-Wan.

And that was the one spot of rot on the fruit. Another sudden pang of something that could have been loneliness or worse stabbed him and he found himself missing Obi-Wan’s bright presence beside him. He missed the admonition to wear his helmet, to slow down, to not be so reckless. He missed Obi-Wan’s laughing exasperation with him. He missed teasing the younger man. He missed the look of pleasure Obi-Wan would be wearing in this setting, in between needling and cajoling his master.

_Enough. Enough. Live in the moment._

Qui-Gon opened up the throttle and the bike shot forward as though to outrun its rider’s melancholy.

 

The first sign of habitation he came across, hours later, was a sudden clearing in the forest and a small cottage nestled in it. He’d slowed down some again after several kilometers of adrenalin-filled speed, mindful of the wildlife that occasionally appeared at the side of the road, or sometimes right in the middle of it, but the glade still caught him by surprise. The cottage was small—only a few rooms—but there was nothing crude about it and Qui-Gon noted for future reference the solar generating panels on the roof. He slowed the bike a little more, but passed on without stopping. Clearly, this was someone who cherished his or her privacy and he was not about to intrude on it.

Next, a few kilometers along the road, came a small village surrounded by open fields ready to be planted. A river meandered along one edge of the fields, running high at the moment and flooding through them, depositing rich silt in the furrows. Qui-Gon stopped the bike just outside the little town and looked at the map and his positioning compass. If the map was accurate, this little settlement—which didn’t appear on the map at all—was only a few more kilometers from what had been the hunting enclave, but the road to it that was sketched out on the map was nowhere to be seen. It seemed likely it had been plowed under at some point because there was nothing but fields in the direction the map indicated he should go.

These were people he would need to be on good terms with, so there was no question of just taking off across the fields. This was as good a time as any to start establishing relations with the locals. Qui-Gon turned the speeder bike in the direction of the little settlement with a sense of anticipation.

 

* * *

 

One moment the surface of the pool was perfectly still; the next, water fountained upward with a sleek red head in the center of it. Obi-Wan let out a lungful of stale air and drew in a deep gasp as another head bobbed up beside him, just as sleek but looking much more at home in the water.

“Not bad for a human,” Bant told him.

“Used to be—better. Out of—practice,” Obi-Wan panted beside her, treading water. He shook wet hair out of his eyes, sending droplets flying, then spread himself out on the surface on his back, sculling lightly to stay afloat. “It’s good to meditate with you, Bant. Thank you for inviting me.” She had found him in the refectory, scowling over his food, and they’d gone to the pool late that night when it was mostly empty. Now they were the only two in it.

“My pleasure, Obi. It’s been a long time since we had a chance to do it. I was missing it too. We don’t see each other much any more.”

“Believe me, it’ll only get worse when you’re a knight,” he grumbled.

“What, Perfect Padawan complaining about his job?” she mocked and flipped a wave of water at him, then dove back under the surface.

He spluttered and coughed for a moment then took off after her in a game they’d played often as crechelings. They chased one another around the pool, sprinting and diving and dunking one another, until Obi-Wan was completely out of breath and had to cling to the edge. Bant glided up to him looking mischievous and not at all winded. “Feel better?” she said.

“Yes, thank you. I needed that,” he sighed.

“So tell me what’s bothering you. You’ve been out of sorts every time I’ve seen you, lately.”

“Nothing, really,” he replied, heaving himself out of the pool and sitting on the edge, paddling his feet in the water. Though it wasn’t “nothing” and it was good to unload it to someone who’d known him as long as Bant had. Despite her teasing, she knew him better than almost anyone in temple and would know he wasn’t just whining, but wouldn’t hesitate to tell him if he were. “I’m just tired and I’m missing Qui. It’s an adjustment to go from spending every day of your life with someone to spending only a handful of days or hours with him, especially when you love him. And I’ve let myself get pushed to the end of my resources once too often. So I’m ‘out of sorts’ as you say. I’m also, apparently, out of training,” he added ruefully.

“And being hard on yourself, as usual,” Bant added. “Nice to know some things don’t change with knighthood.”

“Oh, ha, very funny. Got a trowel for that sarcasm?”

“I’m serious, Obi. Don’t think we haven’t all been watching you. You’re the first in our year to make the cut—which, by the way, was no surprise—so we’re all watching how you do—”

“I did _not_ need to hear that. This is helping me how?” He glared at Bant. She looked back at him from the pool with feigned innocence in her large, luminous eyes.

“Let me finish. So far, you’ve been doing just what you did as a padawan. Now you’re the ‘Uptight Knight.’ Chun says you’re going to hurt yourself if you don’t get that stick out of—”

“All right, all right! I get it, I get it,” he sighed. “You’re right. Qui’s been trying to tell me exactly the same thing in a much gentler way. Thank the Force I have friends like you who will just hit me over the head with it.”

“That’s what friends are for, Kenobi.”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” he replied with genuine warmth.

 

* * *

 

Qui-Gon left the little village a few days later with both relief and regret. He’d been welcomed with curiosity, greeted warmly at first and then with some wary suspicion when he had given his name. He had hoped that, by now, House Jinn-Qi would have been forgotten, but it had become, rather, the stuff of local legend. Many of the villagers were alarmed at the idea of the returned presence of so powerful a family and fearful that they would be turned out of land that they had worked for generations. Qui-Gon did his best to allay their fears without fully explaining his purposes, but it left them with as many questions as answers. That was something that could not be helped.

It was a strange sort of negotiation for him, being in the position of power instead of the neutral intermediary, but many years as a arbitrator had taught him to see both sides of an issue. He sympathized with the villager’s fears, but despite the amount of power he held as a landowner, his own purposes required nothing from them. There was no reason to displace these people or to alarm them, even. Their ancestors had been family retainers abandoned here, and they had made a life for themselves in the absence of other alternatives. If nothing else, their continued occupation of the land gave them certain rights to it, in his mind. So he walked the boundaries claimed by the villagers, confirming its extent and assuring the village council leader that he had no designs on it. As far as he was concerned, they were welcome to do as they wished with it.

Understandably, this reassured no one. Only time and his actions would do that.

He did mention that he would likely need a labor pool at some time in the near future for rebuilding work, which seemed to spark some interest, especially when he uttered the magic words “well-paid.” And that’s where he left it. He would need to see the condition of the property before making any plans or promises. The villagers were not entirely sorry to see him go.

He skirted the fields on a narrow path along the river, which was no longer cresting, taking it very slowly on the bike and enjoying the scenery. The path eventually curved back out of the woods and into scrubby fields that were perhaps last cleared fifty years ago. Eventually, he found the overgrown remnants of the little road on his map and turned down it toward the compound. In a very short time, a ragged stone wall came into view.

Despite the years between their last encounter, Qui-Gon had no difficulty recognizing the figure waiting for him at the tumbledown gate of the compound. Even from a distance, Qui-Gon could tell the years had been kind. The other man, though much shorter than Qui-Gon’s height, stood ramrod straight in an almost military bearing, waiting with the patience of a Jedi, though he was not one. Long white hair was tied in a braid much like Qui-Gon’s, but far longer, pulled back from a broad face with high cheekbones that betrayed the only sign of age: harsh weathering from years spent in the elements. It gave his already dignified bearing the patina of well-earned honor.

Qui-Gon stopped the bike a few meters outside and got off, glad it had been a short ride so he wasn’t as stiff as he’d been getting off it in the village. He bowed deeply to the other man, who returned it even more deeply. They sized one another up for a moment, then both broke into wide smiles and embraced. The arms that went around Qui-Gon were like steel cords. He wasn’t surprised, but he was grateful to see House Jinn-Qi’s former manager had aged so well.

“Ton-Bai, you old rogue. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

That prompted a raised eyebrow. “Who else would I entrust such a duty to, Master Qui-Gon?”

“Please, after all these years, let’s dispense with the honorifics. If anything, I should be calling you master.”

“In deference to my great age, you mean?” There was a dangerous twinkle in the dark eyes that reminded Qui-Gon of his younger partner.

“And experience,” Qui-Gon acknowledged with a smile.

“Well, then, you have learned some manners since I last saw you.”

Qui-Gon felt himself flush and suddenly felt very much like the cocky 21-year-old he’d been when he’d last left this man’s company. “The hard way, like most young people. I’m sorry I left without saying goodby, or thanking you for your kindness, Ton-Bai. It was inexcusable.”

The older man shook his head in mock disapproval. “That was a small thing. But breaking that cup!”

Qui-Gon laughed. “Yes, that truly was inexcusable. Largely because I did it only to provoke Younger Brother. A waste of a beautiful object for my own vanity.”

“Worse! Disrespect for the artist!”

Qui-Gon bowed again, in equally mock contrition. “I accept my chastisement, Older Brother.”

“Now who’s the old rogue?”

Qui-Gon just smiled. “I’ll try to make up for my lack of manners then by thanking you now for undertaking this task. Since I’m legally no longer one of the family—”

Ton-Bai waved his words away as though they were pesky insects. “Legally, perhaps. But not in name or blood. The man who would say so is dead, and his opinion was not shared by the rest of your family. Your sisters consider your ties as strong as their own. Therefore, my obligations to you are as great as to them. Speak no more of it, please.”

An unexpected wave of gratitude swept through Qui-Gon. “Very well. Suppose you show me what we have to work with, then?”

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Kenobi! Wait up!”

Obi-Wan turned at the familiar voice, already grinning. Bruck stopped beside him, returning it and looking him up and down.

“Well, you look better than you have in a while,” he remarked and stepped in to wrap Obi-Wan in a hug. “Finally smarten up and take some time off?”

“Little Gods, had everyone figured this out but me?” Obi-Wan muttered, returning the embrace.

“What gives you that idea? I’m surprised Qui-Gon didn’t say anything to you.”

“He tried. I had a long streak of _I’m not your padawan anymore and I’ll do what I want_ syndrome. Just wait: you’ll go through it, too.”

“Maybe, if I ever reach your exalted state.”

“Ah, now who needs to smarten up?” Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow. Bruck looked briefly abashed and then shrugged it off.

“Guilty as charged. Where are you off to?”

“The salles. Looking for a fight. I’m trying to get back in shape.”

“Oh, really? Maybe I can help you out there, Knight Kenobi.”

“If you think you’re good enough, Padawan Chun,” Obi-Wan challenged.

“I’ll kick your ass.”

“We’ll see. Actually, I was hoping you’d do something else with it.”

“Later, if you’re still in the mood.”

“That’s a promise I’ll hold you to,” Obi-Wan grinned and clapped Bruck on the back. They headed off to the salles taunting one another in a familiar and friendly way.

 

An hour later, Obi-Wan was feeling less charitable. The two young men were circling each other in the salles, sweat staining their practice greys, and Obi-Wan was taking a beating, much to his own chagrin.

“Either you’ve gotten much better, or I’m far more out of practice than I thought,” he grumbled, then barely deflected a swift strike.

“Both, probably,” Bruck grinned, dancing back out of Obi-Wan’s reach. “Qui-Gon’s been teaching the senior level classes. My footwork’s gotten a lot better.”

“That explains—” Obi-Wan began just as Bruck rushed him full tilt and, in a flurry of blows and moves that made good use of his champion ground combat skills, sent Obi-Wan onto his ass and his saber sailing through the air. It shut itself off as soon as it left his hands and clattered unlit to the floor meters away. Shocked, he lay on the floor with the tip of Bruck’s saber at his throat.

“Concede?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said faintly, still stunned.

Bruck lowered his saber. “You’re taking all the fun out of it. Lighten up. I was bound to beat you some time, Ben.”

Obi-Wan shook himself out of his surprised immobility and took Bruck’s proffered hand. “I seem to remember you beating me quite soundly the last time Qui-Gon was gone.”

“Gee, you think it’s a pattern?” Bruck responded.

Obi-Wan ignored him. Pulled to his feet, he bowed deeply in Bruck’s direction. “Well done, Padawan Chun. Good match. Thank you.”

Bruck returned the bow with a surprising lack of sarcasm given his earlier remark, then scooped up a towel from the bench at the side of the room and threw it cheerfully in Obi-Wan’s face. “This means the drinks are on you tonight. But only if you don’t brood.”

“I’m not brooding. But I was thinking that I’d be dead right now if you were that thing with the lightsaber we fought on Naboo.”

“Yeah, you would. So you’ll practice more between missions. There might be more of them out there.”

Obi-Wan fix Bruck with a suspicious glare. “That’s what this was all about, wasn’t it?”

Bruck only rolled his eyes. “You know, it’s not always about keeping your ass alive, Kenobi. I just got better in the last year and a half. More time in the salles than you. But you shouldn’t be letting missions interfere with your training, either. Have you sparred with Qui-Gon lately?”

“No. Not since the last time I was home,” he replied as they headed toward the showers.

“Well, if you think I’ve improved, you should see your former master. He’s been training like—”

“Like his life depended on it? Good,” Obi-Wan said shortly. “I hope he’s working on countering the move that almost killed him.”

“He’s been working a lot with Anakin, too. The kid’s catching on quickly. And there are rumors going around that Qui’s going to be asked to be the next Saber Master.”

“Now that’s a position he would take, unlike the one on the Council. And I can’t say I’d mind that. At least it would keep him in-temple.”

“At least one of you’d be safe,” Bruck added, giving Obi-Wan a knowing look.

“Precisely.”

 

* * *

 

“There’s not much to work with here, is there?” Qui-Gon sighed, looking around at the ruins of the compound and wondering if he’d made a mistake. The buildings were roofless where they were standing at all, and so overgrown with vegetation that they were almost invisible. It would be worse than starting from scratch in some ways.

“More than you might think,” Ton-Bai countered. As the tour had progressed, his habitual veneer of the respectful retainer had fallen away until only the experienced manager was evident. Instead of master and servant they were two peers. Qui-Gon was pleased to see the change. “Many of the foundations are still quite solid, even if the buildings above are not. The bones of the land are good. It’s a good location: fresh water nearby, good drainage, protected from the weather, sunny, and good soil. That’s important. You’ve seen the village fields on the way here?”

“Yes. It’s good black earth.”

“The river brings it in. There’s no reason this couldn’t be a self-supporting settlement, as the village is. And come: there’s one more feature I think you might be interested in.”

Ton-Bai set off through the undergrowth, swinging the outsized vibroblade before him like a much younger man, widening the narrow path through the thick undergrowth. Qui-Gon followed for several hundred meters, up a gentle incline from the floodplain of the river. At the top, Ton-Bai stopped. “Can you see it?”

“I see the palimpsest of some kind of cultivation,” Qui-Gon answered. “What—Oh. A vineyard?”

“Just so.”

“It would take years to bring it back to production.”

“Yes.”

Qui-Gon shot the retired overseer a sly look. “Something to keep an old man occupied?”

Ton-Bai inclined his head to keep the smile on his face invisible. “Perhaps two of them.”

Qui-Gon caught the smile anyway and felt it spreading to his own face. At least one of his padawans had seen a vineyard in his future—not Obi-Wan but his first padawan, Ayana. Obi-Wan couldn’t seem to imagine him being anything or anywhere but a working Jedi in the field or at temple. The young liked to hold on to their illusions. Qui-Gon was at an age now when he couldn’t afford them and didn’t care for them much anymore.

 

Over a fire at their little camp that night, the two men sketched out plans for the compound and made arrangements for further communication. Ton-Bai volunteered to oversee the work himself, which lifted a tremendous burden from Qui-Gon’s shoulders. Despite the long list of trustworthy contacts Mace had given him, he wanted someone he knew personally to handle this part of the project, and he needed someone with Ton-Bai’s experience. Decades of running House Jinn-Qi’s family estate was the perfect training for something like this.

“I have an architect-engineer that I’ll send out to you here, so she can look the site over. The compound needs to be as unobtrusive and low-impact as possible, so we’ll have to plan the waste recycling carefully,” Qui-Gon said.

Ton Bai nodded, understanding perfectly. The Jinn estates were run along much the same lines. “We can use the wetlands for processing most of the organic waste and compost the rest. Everything that can’t be composted or recycled you could sell for scrap.”

“Possibly. But we may not be having much interaction with the rest of the galaxy for quite some time, if ever. We’ll be bringing in everything the settlement needs beforehand, and won’t be sending out for more. Everything needs to be planned for from the outset, before anyone arrives. That’s where Hizme comes in. She has a great deal of experience with new colonies.”

“Well, then. It will be an enlightening experience. I’m looking forward to this, you know.”

Qui-Gon smiled. “I know. Regretting your retirement?”

“No, it was time. The estates were too much for me alone. It takes a young person to see to them all. My daughter is doing a fine job of it.”

“I have no doubts of that, Ton Bai.”

“This, though,” he went on, “is a manageable challenge. Just the right size for an old man who still knows a thing or two.”

“I have no worries about leaving it your capable hands.”

“That is the greatest honor you could do me, Qui-Gon. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, old friend. Both of us may have bitten off far more than we can chew.”

There was still much to do, and at least a year’s worth of construction before anything would be ready for the next step in the planning. No doubt there would be further obstacles down the road, but he’d done as much as he could here, now. The rest of the construction work would have to be entrusted to Ton-Bai, and Qui-Gon would have to make arrangements for funding and possibly materials. It was a matter of planning and waiting. Tomorrow, he would make his way back to the Temple and begin what he saw as the hardest phase: carrying on as though nothing had changed, when everything had.

 

* * *

 

“Here, watch my feet, Anakin. The sequence goes like this. Watch carefully.” Obi-Wan repeated just the steps of the kata without the rest of the movements. “Once you get the footing right, the rest follows. Do it with me this time.”

In the year Obi-Wan had been coming and going, Anakin had nearly caught up with his age group at the Temple in most aspects of his physical training. He had obviously spent his life listening to the Force’s direction in his own way, and it was proving less work than his teachers had feared to redirect him. All he was doing now was using it for different activities: katas instead of pod racing. Of the two, the katas were anticlimactic. It was shocking how quickly he caught on, but not truly surprising given his midichlorian count and his background.

The two of them moved through just the steps of the kata slowly, Anakin carefully imitating Obi-Wan’s actions. Then the boy did it again himself, alone, with Obi-Wan observing.

“Good, Anakin. Again. Just the footwork.”

“But I’ve got it now,” he protested.

“Your head might have it, but I want your muscles to remember it too, and that only comes with repetition. It should become as natural to you as breathing.”

Looking less than happy about it, Anakin repeated the kata’s steps until Obi-Wan was sure the boy could do it in his sleep. That, of course, was the point.

“Now with the arm movements,” Obi-Wan directed.

Anakin was obviously chagrined to find this was harder than he’d anticipated. Again, Obi-Wan drilled him repeatedly until the kata became second nature to him. At the end of the lesson, the boy was glowing with sweat and pride. For all of Obi-Wan’s pushing him, he’d mastered it amazingly quickly, especially for one who was just coming to this practice at the age of ten.

“Very well done, Anakin,” Obi-Wan told him, ruffling the boy’s sweat-spiky hair. “You’ve made truly remarkable progress since the last time I saw you.”

In a gesture that had quickly become automatic, Anakin bowed, though he retained his grin. “Thanks, Master Obi-Wan. Master Qui-Gon’s been working with me too.”

“I know he has, Ani,” Obi-Wan replied, handing him a towel and sending him off toward the showers. “He asked me to check on you while he was gone.” He’d watched several of Anakin’s classes, and when it seemed he was having trouble with this kata, reserved the room for a little tutoring. Qui-Gon would no doubt be pleased to see Anakin’s progress continuing. “But no matter who’s working with you, the effort has been yours. You should be pleased. Go clean up and we’ll have dinner—unless you’d like to go back to the creche and eat with your friends.”

Anakin looked strangely relieved. “It’d be wizard to have dinner with you, Master Obi-Wan.” Eagerly, he ran off to the showers. Obi-Wan followed at a more thoughtful pace.

 

An hour later, they were sitting in the refectory, both of them tackling platefuls of food. Over the past ten-day, Obi-Wan’s appetite had returned, though he hadn’t really missed it to begin with, the change had been so gradual. He suspected now that it was more than just lack of physical activity that had blunted it. He’d worked hard in the salles and felt as though he were back up to speed again, though he felt that only a round with Qui-Gon would really let him gauge how much lost ground he’d regained.

Anakin was tucking in like any active ten-year-old boy, but without the furtive speed of someone who never knew if there was going to be another meal. Obi-Wan could almost hear Qui-Gon’s admonition to slow down and learn to enjoy what was put before him. It was a lecture he’d heard often enough himself.

“So tell me about your new friends in the creche, Ani. You must have a number of them by now.”

Anakin ducked his head and mumbled something, shoulders slumping.

“Pardon?”

“Not really,” Anakin repeated a little louder, taking a mouthful of food to avoid further explication.

Though there was no bond between them, he could sense the boy’s unhappiness with the topic. This surprised Obi-Wan. Anakin had been such a bright and friendly child, something even Obi-Wan had recognized through his misgivings about the boy’s abilities. It had been no accident that Queen Amidala and her retinue had been utterly charmed and taken Anakin under their collective wing during the time they’d spent on Naboo. And he’d had a passel of friends amongst the other slave children on Tatooine.

“Ani, are they teasing you?”

His shoulders hunched now, as though to avoid a blow. “Kinda. A little.”

“About having to catch up?”

Anakin nodded and put his fork down, still not looking up.

“And about being the Chosen One, too?”

“And I don’t even know what they’re talking about!” the boy blurted, looking up finally with tears trembling in his eyes. “I don’t know anything!” The motion sent two trails of moisture down his cheeks. “I hate it here!”

The look of anguish made him remember his own days in the creche before he and Bruck had made peace with each other. Why did children torment each other so? “You can’t be expected to know everything the others do, Ani. You didn’t grow up as a Jedi initiate. The fact that you’ve all but caught up with your age group in just a year, from knowing so little before, shows what a fine student you are, and how hard you’ve worked. None of them had to work that hard. And it shows just how great your potential is. I don’t suppose they like that, either, do they?”

Anakin rubbed his nose with his sleeve and shook his head, looking down again. Obi-Wan handed him another napkin.

“You know,” Obi-Wan said in a casual tone, spearing another piece of food on his plate, “for years, Bruck had this little posse of friends who made my life miserable in the creche. Every meal was torture. They’d sit at one of the nearby tables and make rude remarks and throw food when they thought they could get away with it, or trip me in the hallways or in the practice rooms and then call me Oafy-Wan. We used to fight all the time. I can’t tell you how many black eyes and bruises and burns we’ve given each other, in the salles and out. Bruck nearly got me expelled, in fact.”

When he looked up from his plate again, Anakin was watching him attentively but with an air of wariness. “Really?” he said, obviously not quite believing what he was hearing.

“Really. Bruck and his friends _loathed_ me. And it only got worse when Qui-Gon took me as his padawan.”

“Why?”

“Because all my instructors liked me, because, like you, I had a lot of potential. I was at the top of most of my classes. I started learning aerials very young and I got good with a ‘saber quickly. Even as a junior padawan, I won quite a few awards. Bruck wasn’t the only one who was jealous.” Anakin listened raptly as Obi-Wan told him how he and Bruck had fought for Qui-Gon’s attention, and fought again in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, how they’d scuffled with each other seven years later, how Bruck himself continued to be shunned and bullied well into adulthood.

“But you’re best friends now. I don’t get it.”

 _And so much more,_ Obi-Wan thought. “You know that saying everyone’s always spouting at you—‘Fear leads to anger; anger leads to hate; hate leads to suffering’?” Anakin nodded. “The others in the creche are afraid of you, of what you could be, and what you can do now. They see both how hard you’ve worked and how easily you’ve caught up. They’re angry that you’re so quick and that they have to work harder than you do. That makes them mean. That could lead to you hating them, and that hate leads to misery for everyone, you included. You can’t change them, but it’s your choice whether to be afraid of them or to hate them or not.

“I can’t tell you what to do about the people who tease you or bully you. No matter what any adult says to them, they’ll find ways to keep doing it until they grow out of it. It’s a problem you’ll have to find a solution to yourself. I can tell you, though, that what changed Bruck, finally, was kindness. Kindness is like water; it eventually wears down even the hardest heart.”

“You mean, be nice to them? Do stuff for them?” Anakin sounded incredulous.

“Exactly. Nothing is more embarrassing than to be nasty to someone and have them be nice to you in return. It shows them how petty their own actions are. More importantly, kindness changes people, from within.”

“And in the meanwhile, don’t let them make you ashamed of who or what you are. Make the most of your abilities and talents. Be the best you can be. You have nothing to be ashamed of.” _Yet,_ Obi-Wan thought without letting that reservation reach his face. “It won’t be easy.”

“I can do it,” Anakin assured him, squaring his shoulders again and picking up his fork once more.

“I’m sure you can, Ani. Just remember it’s not an act; you have to mean it.”

 

* * *

 

Their quarters were dark and silent when Qui-Gon stepped inside. It was late, even for Obi-Wan, and no doubt the younger man was already in bed, unless he and Bruck had gone clubbing. He knew Obi-Wan was still home because he’d checked the roster the moment he’d arrived. Apparently he’d requested three tens instead of just two. If so, it would be some time before he could request more, unless he was assigned a particularly difficult mission. Pity. Tentatively, he touched the bond, and found Obi-Wan slumbering peacefully at the other end of it.

He removed his cloak and boots—he’d changed back into them once again in the back of Dex’s before venturing home—and went into the fresher to clean up before going to bed. Bathing facilities had been either distinctly lacking or utterly disgusting on the last two ships he’d taken home, and he preferred to use his own rather than Dex’s, being so close to the temple. He was certainly not getting into a clean bed beside a clean lover smelling the way he did now.

A short while later, Qui-Gon slid under the covers and snuggled up to the warm body already beneath them. He nuzzled into Obi-Wan’s hair, which smelled as freshly washed as his own, and wrapped his arms around him, fitting the curves of his body to the smaller one he held. Obi-Wan sighed in his sleep and wriggled closer.

Qui-Gon waited.

A few minutes later, Obi-Wan threw off all the covers and rolled away, sprawling onto his back, still asleep. Already a heat generator himself, the raised temperature of Qui-Gon’s body from the fresher had overheated him, as Qui-Gon had known it would. He was too warm now, skin glistening with sweat in the dim twilight of Coruscant’s night. Qui-Gon leaned over, throwing the remaining covers off himself, and gave Obi-Wan’s damp skin a long lick across his stomach, circling his navel and then working his tongue into it. Obi-Wan squirmed beneath him and two hands touched his head and began to wind themselves in his hair as he licked downward. Sleepy pleasure filled the bond with the faint taste of spice. “This is a very good dream,” he heard a familiar voice mumble.

Qui-Gon said nothing, preserving the illusion. His tongue traced the crease of leg and torso on first one side, then the other, and Obi-Wan’s legs fell open to him, his cock stirring and filling. He sank his nose into the ginger hair at its root, inhaling Obi-Wan’s musk, and licked over the pendulous sac below, surprised to find it hairless. Obi-Wan chuckled quietly. “Thought you’d like that,” he murmured, still half-asleep but acknowledging Qui-Gon’s surprised delight through their bond.

Qui-Gon sucked one orb into his mouth. Obi-Wan rocked his pelvis up, hands clutching in Qui-Gon’s hair, a soft gasp escaping him. “Oh! A very good dream!” He was quivering all over by the time Qui-Gon took the second one into his mouth. When he let go, Obi-Wan’s cock was arced up hard against his belly and he was panting and squirming.

Qui-Gon licked up the pulsing vein on the underside of Obi-Wan’s cock, pausing to tickle the sensitive spot below the crown. The bond filled his mouth with the taste of his lover’s pleasure: sweet tea and spice and a flavor that could only be Obi-Wan himself. “Oh, Qui—” he moaned, followed by a wordless groan as Qui-Gon swallowed him down.

They were both wide awake now, Obi-Wan tense as a wire below him, hands clenched in the sheets. Qui-Gon worked his lover slowly, bringing him up to the edge and then stopping, each plateau a little higher, until he was trembling and bucking and whining.

“Qui! Please, finish me off—oh gods, gods, _gods!_ ” he shrieked as Qui-Gon obliged. Obi-Wan’s hands closed on Qui-Gon’s wrists in a death grip as his back bowed and he shuddered, filling Qui-Gon’s mouth with the bitter salt of his semen.

Qui-Gon gentled him down just as slowly, wiping him clean with the cloth he’d brought from the fresher and enjoying the feel of skin and languid muscles as he stroked and petted Obi-Wan nearly to sleep before he struggled up from it and sent an exploratory and caressing hand over Qui-Gon’s body. “If you don’t stop,” Obi-Wan murmured, “you’ll put me right out again, and you haven’t come. What do you want, _iji aijinn?_ ”

Qui-Gon closed his eyes in pleasure as Obi-Wan’s hand closed on his cock, squeezing and stroking in an unhurried way guaranteed to keep the burn hot. “Just that,” he sighed. “Just your hands. And you needn’t stretch it out. Just take off the edge and we’ll continue this in the morning.”

The taste in his mouth turned a little bitter. “You’d best get what you can tonight. I’m off early tomorrow. You just made it home in time,” Obi-Wan told him ruefully.

“How early are you leaving?”

“0800. I’m very well rested, Qui, and it’s a long trip. They’re sending me out to the Rim. I can sleep on board ship,” Obi-Wan urged.

“In that case, hand me the lube.”

Teeth flashed in the darkness. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Qui-Gon moved the bolster beneath Obi-Wan’s hips and was soon stroking over his prostate with one slick finger.

“Oh gods, Qui, your hands are so big,” Obi-Wan panted, rocking onto the digit impaling him. “I always forget how big they are until you push a finger into me. I love this.”

The bond again filled Qui-Gon’s mouth with the taste of his lover’s pleasure, both sweeter and spicier than before. He knew this was what Obi-Wan loved, more than anything, and marveled at how much his attitude had changed. The first time they’d made love and Qui-Gon had wanted this, wanted to be inside his lover, Obi-Wan had been hesitant and a little frightened of the act. Now it was his favorite activity, if the frequency with which he asked for it and the noises he made were any indication. With the Force, Qui-Gon flicked on the low light beside the bed, the better to see Obi-Wan’s face.

Once again, his hands were clenched, this time around the backs of his thighs as he held himself open. As Qui-Gon gently pushed a second finger inside him, rubbing the hot spot on the way in, Obi-Wan shuddered, his head snapping back against the mattress in an arc of pleasure, mouth open, features contorted. “That’s enough,” he panted. “Enough. I’m ready.”

“I hope so,” Qui-Gon growled. By now he was aching for some kind of release and could barely stand to touch himself enough to slick his cock. He pushed inside slowly, in a show of great restraint, to the sound of Obi-Wan keening his name over and over. No matter how many times they did this, the tightness was always a glorious surprise. Obi-Wan was like a second skin around him, making them seem one creature. “Oh love,” he murmured, leaning over as Obi-Wan’s legs closed around his waist. They found each other’s mouths and as Qui-Gon began to move, Obi-Wan slid his tongue inside, interlocking them.

It was sweet and slow at first, Qui-Gon moving only enough to keep himself on edge, occasionally raking Obi-Wan’s prostate with a quick, hard thrust that made them both cry out. But it wasn’t long before Obi-Wan was reaching for his own hardened cock again and they were panting into each other’s mouths as Qui-Gon’s thrusts came faster and harder. They broke away as Qui-Gon looped his elbows beneath Obi-Wan’s knees, bending him double, and began to thrust hard enough to rock the bed.

Obi-Wan went up first, as Qui-Gon had hoped, and watching him thrash and cry out pushed Qui-Gon over as well. Their orgasms fed back on each other through the bond, spinning out, pulling cries and moans and frantic noises from them, and leaving them both gasping in each others arms and a sticky mess between them.

“Oh gods, Qui. It’s so good with you. I’ve missed you so much.” Obi-Wan murmured, rubbing his cheek against Qui-Gon’s and running his hands up and down the larger man’s back as they lay together. Qui-Gon only had breath to kiss him, then carefully disengaged and disentangled them and wiped them both down, settling back into Obi-Wan’s waiting arms.

“I’ve missed you too, _kosai_. Do you know how long you’ll be gone this time?”

Obi-Wan made a face, and then flicked the light out again with a gesture. “No,” he said in the dark, as though that would make it easier. “No, I don’t. I expect quite a while though. It’s a sort of open-ended information-gathering mission. We’re trying to trace the origins of that thing on Naboo.”

“I see. Are we stabbing in the dark? No pun intended, of course.”

“Of course. No, it had been sighted here and there, mostly around the Rim, or so rumor says. I’m chasing the rumors. Who knows how long that will take.”

“Indeed. In the meanwhile, have you taken advantage of your leave?” Qui-Gon asked, knowing Obi-Wan would understand it was his way of saying “be careful.”

“Yes, I have. I’ve got myself back in shape, rested, and up to speed in the salles once again, thanks to Bruck and Bant, who’ve flogged me mercilessly—”

“And I daresay you liked that.”

That earned him a pinch on the ass, which only drove his groin against Obi-Wan’s. “I was going to say, before I was rudely interrupted with a sarcastic remark, and thanks to Anakin, who’s made me review all the hard lessons you’ve taught me. ”

“You looked in on him, then, while I was gone.”

“Of course. You asked me to. I’ve left you a note about his progress. Did you know he’s being bullied in the creche?”

“I suspected as much. Did you speak to the creche master?”

“I did, though they weren’t unaware of it either. Apparently, the little beasts are quite circumspect about it and Anakin won’t say who it is. We had a long talk, though, Anakin and I. I told him about my early relationship with Bruck.”

“Though not, I trust, how you finally remedied that problem?”

“Well I didn’t tell the boy we eventually fucked each other, if that’s what you mean. I did tell him it doesn’t hurt to be kind, even when the other person’s not. He seemed a bit unsure about the idea.”

“You’re one of the few people I know who’s not unsure about it, love,” Qui-Gon told him, suddenly feeling very tender.

Obi-Wan merely snorted. “This from the man who never says no to a stray.”

Qui-Gon echoed the snort. “This from the man who always tends the strays I don’t say no to. Thank you for taking the time with Anakin. I’m sure it meant a great deal to him. It certainly does to me.”

“I would do anything for you,” Obi-Wan whispered, and kissed him with a sweet tenderness. “Within reason. I draw the line at hand-feeding vornskr pups.” The last sentence was broken by a yawn.

“Then I shan’t ask you to. Go to sleep, love.” He gathered Obi-Wan to him, snuffling into his hair. “We’ll talk more in the morning, before you go.”

 

But they didn’t, or not much. Somehow, Qui-Gon failed to wake when Obi-Wan did, and his knight was already dressed in his cloak when he made his way back to their bedroom and brushed Qui-Gon’s forehead with his lips.

“I didn’t want to leave without a kiss,” he murmured as Qui-Gon woke, and Obi-Wan dipped in again for another. Qui-Gon obliged happily.

“You should have woken me earlier.”

“You came in late. And it kept you out from underfoot while I was getting ready,” he grinned.

“Am I such a hindrance?”

“More of a fusspot. It’s why I love you. I’ve got to get going, but I’ll com if I can. Don’t count on it, though.”

“I look forward to the possibility of a pleasant surprise.” Qui-Gon reached up and pulled him down for one more kiss. “I love you,” he said, releasing Obi-Wan again.

“Yes, love you, too,” Obi-Wan agreed, touching his face tenderly. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” And with a swirl and snap of his cloak, he was gone from their quarters, leaving an empty stillness behind.

Qui-Gon lay abed for a while, listening to the silence and hearing the echoes of years of laughter and conversation and passion in it, faintly, the way he still tasted sweet tea through the bond. They were always with each other now, always would be with each other, though sometimes it was little comfort given the physical distances so often between them. Master Yoda would no doubt dispute that, but Qui-Gon had often thought that humans were more attached to their crude matter than the little troll’s species was; he suspected that detachment was a side effect of longevity. He certainly missed the presence of Obi-Wan’s crude matter. At the moment, however, the bond would have to be enough.

He rose, made the bed, washed up and went into the kitchen to make tea. Obi-Wan had left a cup drying, and he plucked it up to reuse, then took out the pot he made cha in and the canister of the fragrant blend. He opened that, already starting to plunge the scoop in, but arrested the movement at the sight of something white lying inside.

He set the scoop down and drew out the tiny scroll Obi-Wan had hidden there. Unrolled, he found it contained a copy of an ancient Dannoran poem.

_In morning mist_

_we pass each other searching_

_ships in fog_

And below it a note: _Think of me while I’m gone. Love you. O_

Qui-Gon stared at it for a while, without rereading it, tracing Obi-Wan’s spare, elegant handwriting with his gaze, fighting off the melancholy the poem offered. Finally, he rolled it up again and tucked it into his sash and proceeded to make his tea. Sitting at the table sipping it, he took the small scroll out once again and flattened it, caressing the surface as though it were Obi-Wan’s skin.

“Ships come home to port,” he murmured, and rolled it up again. An eavesdropper might have mistaken it for a prayer.


End file.
